


Midwinter Night's Torment

by BookishTea



Series: Molliarty [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awkward Romance, BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gift Fic, Historical, Injury Recovery, Isolation, Loss of Powers, Magic, Mark Hooper - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Winter, molliarty - Freeform, trash panda Jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: "Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild. With a faery, hand in hand. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridiculosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/gifts).



> I wanted to show in the best way that I could, thanks to Ridiculosity for being a part of our community, and writing such beautiful stories. A million thanks to those on the molliarty discord server who've offered advice for this fic, especially [Iridogorgia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridogorgia/pseuds/Iridogorgia). 
> 
> The quote is by W. B. Yeats.

The Hooper family was received respectfully, but at a distance. The twins, who had moved just outside of the town, a year prior, had already made a name for themselves. The oldest, Mark, ventured in occasionally for provisions, and to tend to any illness that may have befallen the people.

Although he wasn’t the official physician, many reasoned he would take up the mantle when the work became too cumbersome for the elderly Dr Hodge - which seemed likely to happen at any moment.

He was a quiet gentleman, but his hands were tender with his patients. Already the small community of mothers, had plenty of potential wives in mind. As far as they saw it, he only needed a lover to open up. His sister, on the other hand, was a far more difficult case. Margaret, when she did the rare trek of coming into town, gave the impression of being a timid but an intelligent young lady. It was to the opinion of most, that her appearance was a little plain, perhaps on the verge of being pretty, at a distance - but her age took away from whatever attractive qualities she seemed to possess. And there was her demeanour… She never stayed long in shops to chat, only to gather whatever material she needed to make her mends, and left.

The only person who had a real conversation with her was the bookstore owner, and even then, Mr Shaw didn’t know much about Miss Margaret - aside from that she preferred the name Molly, and that she held a surprising interest in the sciences. All in all, the Hoopers were considered a sort of local curiosity.

 

_Late November_

 

“Shit!” Molly swiftly reached out, frantically clasping onto a tree’s trunk before she fell over. After she had caught her breath, she straightened, frowning at the wicker basket that she’d dropped.

An assortment of mushrooms that she had stumbled across, Jelly Ear, and Shaggy Ink Caps, lay mockingly at her feet. Sighing, Molly released her hold on the tree, and bent down, scooping everything up from the frozen mud. Casting a betrayed glance at the protruding root that she’d tripped over, Molly continued on her way - letting the thought of the soup she was going to make, and the warmth of a fire, hurry her pace.

Through the twisting maze of the forest, and their searching skeleton fingers, she walked along the trail. This place may be her home, and the spirits that inhabited these ancient beings didn’t mean her harm, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t other things that did. Molly was alone in the world, and that made her invisible. And while that could aid her, it was also a double edged sword. Just as easily, she could go missing, and no one would know. No one would care.

The image of a gentleman flashed in her mind, studious, with dark curls and a cold gaze. Molly winced, shaking her head to be rid of the memory. She had left London for a reason, had severed its leash. Those memories, weren’t hers to long after anymore.

The trees opened up to reveal a clearing. Hidden away, and protected in the bosom of the forest, was Molly’s cottage.

The breath she’d been unknowingly holding, escaped in a gush.

Her safe haven, built by a family long since gone, was made up of roughly hewn stones, and covered with a thatched roof. However, that moment of serenity didn’t last long.

Her heart skidded to a halt, as she stared from across the field. The front door was open… At first, she didn’t know what that meant, couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone being in her home. That someone would break in, would tarnish the precious privacy she had.

A second later, anger slammed into her, the intensity taking her completely off guard. It breathed hotly through her body, willing her feet to move, and to run forward.

Shoving the door open fully, Molly paused in the entrance. The light from the rapidly darkening sky, slipped past her, and spilled into the hallway. Orange and yellow bathed the interior that Molly gingerly walked into.

There weren’t a lot of rooms, only three, if she didn’t count the pantry. Which made the task of finding the intruder easy.  Warily, she set her basket down and walked into the room on the left. The kitchen.

Inside, there wasn’t any sign of anyone. She padded over to the large pine table that was placed in the middle of the room. Ears straining for any sound, her breath hitched as she cautiously opened the furniture’s drawer. Glancing between the door frames on either side of the room, she carefully picked up her weapon, a meat cleaver, before she closed the drawer.

Nothing yet, but that didn’t mean her intruder wasn’t crouched in a corner waiting for her. She didn’t think anyone would hide in the cool pantry, but just for equal measure she tiptoed over to its door. With a deep breath, she yanked it open. Awaiting her, was the usual cabinets and her stocked food.

Sighing with temporary relief, Molly firmly shut the door, and turned around.

There were only two more rooms left.

 _Right_. Molly thought as she adjusted her grip on the handle. _Let’s get this over with._

Briskly, she walked across the kitchen, but hesitated when she stood in front of the closed door. Her hand hovered above the brass knob, plagued with a terrible sense of dread.

 _Are they in my bedroom?_ There wasn’t much they could steal from her, at least, of a material value. The life she led, didn’t involve a lot of pretty trinkets. What she did possess, had more of a sentimental significance. Gently loved books, and what she kept from that past life in the city. Bits and pieces that belonged to her late father, old letters and his clothing.

Nose scrunching with the idea of a faceless thief stealing what meagre things she had to remember her father, Molly’s hand finally clamped onto the door knob. She listened with a wince at the sharp sound of the tiny gears moving and clicking into place. Pulling it open, she lifted her knife a little higher as she peered inside, hoping that it would scare off this burglar, and she saw… _Nothing_.

Well, not nothing, but the same threadbare contents she saw on an average day. It looked just as she left it. So… That just left the parlour room.

Releasing the door knob, Molly retraced her steps, walking back into the main hallway. This time, however, she opened the door to the room on the right, and headed inside.

That’s when she finally saw it - Er, him. It looked like it was a man that was lying face down on her carpet. He was sprawled in a rather awkward position, one that made Molly on the verge of pitying him for the pain he’d suffer from in the morning, but that feeling didn’t last long.

Blinking harshly, Molly hissed, “ _Tobias!_ ” Of course, her feline companion was stretched out comfortably a few paces away from the motionless body. He gave her a chirp in greeting, but made no move of getting up, only purring loudly as she stepped into the room.

Lips pursed, Molly eyed the man before she set the knife on the small table by the entryway. If her territorial cat wasn’t worried, then perhaps this unwanted guest posed no threat. And even if he did try to harm her, she was more than confident Tobias would claw him into ribbons, which would give her enough time to arm herself again.

Huffing at how outlandish this situation was, she crept up to the stranger. One of his arms was outstretched, almost as if he… Molly’s brows furrowed. _Had he been trying to light the fireplace?_ Kneeling to his side, she gripped his shoulders, grunting as she turned him over. Leaning forward, she peered into his face.

“Who are you?” She whispered aloud, squinting in annoyance. She didn’t recognize him, at least, he wasn’t one of her patients. The town’s people knew she lived in the forest, so perhaps he was someone who needed help?

The drained colour from his cheeks was certainly something that alarmed her. She lingered on his expression. She was averse to noting the attractiveness of his dark features, but despite everything, Molly was a woman - one who only touched other humans when it was professionally necessary or to exchange coins; and he was… Handsome.

There was something simple to his visage individually, but when looked at as a whole… Molly shook her head, hastily looking away from his thick eyelashes and inky ruffled hair, and tentatively placed two fingers against the side of his windpipe. After a tense second, she felt his pulse. She stayed there for nine more seconds, counting the number of beats. When she pulled away, she was frowning again.

He was alive, but the slowness of his heart, and the clamminess to his fevered skin was vexing. Molly tsked. “The nerve,” she mumbled, “getting yourself into such a state, and without any consideration to those who would be tasked into restoring your health.” She absently shook her head, shifting her focus to his torso.

Before she undressed him, it was best to be prepared. As swift as she possibly could be, she exited the room and ran into the kitchen. Stopping at the closed range, she fetched some kindling and matches before she unlatched the grate. Soon as she had a fire going, she closed it, and grabbed a hanging pot from the wall and set it on the hot plate above the firebox. Thankfully, she’d already had gotten a pitcher full of water from the well earlier that morning, so she easily poured the liquid in.

After tossing some strips of cloth in as well, she grabbed gauze, a jar of honey, and a powder from the pantry. Taking it with her, she went back into the parlour room.

For a moment she stood in the door frame, baffled that he was still there. When she was in the other room, a part of her had hoped this wasn’t real, that she had imagined this scene to have a sense of relief from her crippling loneliness. As being stuck in this hellish nightmare with no hope of escaping, was far better than being alone. But no, she wasn’t sleeping, and there was a man dying on her rug. With a heavy heart, she walked over to him and set her tools on the ground.

It was hard to describe the suit he wore. The style was surely of a fashionable cut. And although it had been years since she’d attended any matter of a ball, or even walked the streets of London, she reasoned it could only belong to those with an exquisite taste. Perhaps, she was tending to an aristocrat? But that still brought on the question as to why he was  _here_ of all places, and not at a manor with a league of servants awaiting his every wish?

The colour in itself, of the suit was strange. It reminded her of rain on a cold night, and whispered secrets. But as beautiful as his clothing was, it was currently hiding any wounds her guest might have. Clucking her tongue, Molly quickly climbed to her feet and made her way over to the dresser in the corner. Yanking open the drawer, she had to rummage for a few moments before she found her shears. As soon as she clasped them, she hurried back to his side.

Dropping back down to her knees, Molly pushed the sopping fabric of his coat back. She paused, mystified by the material. It felt like water gliding through her fingers, weightless, without the burden of when her own attire was soaked through.

Roughly, she shook her head. Coat out of her way, she then unbuttoned his vest. There were only four jet glass buttons, but the trembling of her fingers made the task harder than it ought to be. Pushing that to the side as well, finally, she could see the dark spot staining his dress shirt.

She slid the scissor blades so the material was between it, careful to not nick any flesh as she was just about to make her first cut. Before she could, a hand shot out, and gripped her wrist.

The tight, painful vise made her drop the scissors, stealing a gasp from her lips as her eyes snapped upwards. He was glaring at her. His eyes were glassy, but his animosity still rang clear.

In the background, she could hear Tobias’ hiss of warning, but it was faint. The deep, rasp of this man’s voice snatched away all other sounds.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he seethed, holding an impossible amount of power with such a simple word, “harm a single thread of my suit, _mortal_...” As soon as he finished the sentence, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he fell limp back onto the floor.

Molly sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Mortal?” She muttered to herself, slowly recovering from her shock. She rubbed at her throbbing wrist, still staring at the inert form.

From behind her, Tobias gave a meow of concern, and stalked over to sniff her. After the excitement of everything settled, Molly said aloud, “What an arse!”

She was attempting to heal him, even after he had broken into her home and had tracked mud all over the floor, and he still had the _nerve_ to threaten her?! Molly pursed her lips. She had half the mind to toss him back outside, and let him handle his wounds by himself… Angrily, she dropped her hand to pick up the scissors again.

No…

She couldn’t do that… She swore an oath to help those in need, and the fool she was, she was going to keep it. Despite this nameless man’s intimidation, Molly’s spite was stronger than her fear, and she ruthlessly cut through the dress shirt.

It was sad to see such a pretty thing destroyed, but at that point, her anger didn’t let her dawdle on the waste. As soon as it was split down the middle and ripped at the arms, she tossed it over her shoulder.

The ungrateful gentleman before her had a cut to his side, which thankfully didn’t appear too deep to be fatal. And while that was a welcomed sight, it didn’t lessen her worry or the hard work ahead of her.

The first thing she did was go back into the kitchen for the strips of cloth, which she separated into a bowl by forceps. The heated water was poured into its own dish, with mild soap flakes added. Carefully, she walked back with the two dishes, and set them down with the rest of her equipment.

Slipping out her coat, she tossed it to the side. “Right,” Molly mumbled, “let’s get to work.”

She couldn’t see any debris in the wound, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. With the cloth she cleaned gingerly, so she wouldn’t scrub the skin. After everything was rinsed off, and she satisfied, she used the soapy water to clean around it.

Tossing the bloodied cloth into the bowl, she then turned to the jars. The powdered shepherd’s purse was first, a styptic she applied directly - to help with the inflammation. Next, the honey, which she layered evenly for infection. The tricky part, however, came to bandaging the wound.

It was difficult, but eventually she managed to wind the gauze around his physique, eyes stubbornly avoiding the fairness of his skin, and the firmness of his muscles. Content that she did her best, she did a cursory review of the rest of his body for any remaining injury. Surprisingly, it appeared that aside for bruises and minor cuts, the wound to the torso was the only major one.

Tuckered out, and her sunlight nearly all gone, Molly did what little she could do with the darkness descending upon her. She changed into some clean nightclothes, and stole the blankets from her bed - which she generously draped one over her patient.

Fire in the range banked, she then checked to see that the front door was locked and all the windows were closed. It was only then that she made her bed for tonight in the parlour room. Sleeping on the stiff sofa wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it would help her keep an eye on him.

Hearth ablaze and noisily crackling, Molly squinted at the man over her toes, trying her hardest to keep her eyes open a little longer. But as prudent as she was about falling asleep, it wasn’t only her body that was exhausted, but her soul as well.

“Perhaps,” she mumbled around a yawn, “tomorrow will yield answers.” Slumber snuck up on her then, stealing her away to a realm of fitful dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly awoke to sunshine tickling her cheeks, and pressing lightly into her closed eyes. Her nose scrunched at the feeling, and she turned her face in response, trying to get away from it. But the nuisance that it was, moving didn’t lessen the sensation. She sighed in annoyance, blindly adjusting the blanket so it covered her more as she listened to the rustling in the kitchen.

Rustling in the kitchen…? Molly’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up rod straight, more awake than she’s ever felt before in her life. Her gaze shifted to the ground, breath quickening as she stared at the crumpled blanket and her missing patient. She turned back to the door frame, and slowly peeled the blanket away, slipping off of the sofa.

Mindful of any creaking floorboards, she walked across the room, taking the meat cleaver from the top of the dresser before she continued into the hallway. Already she knew where he was. She could hear him beyond the closed door in the kitchen, rummaging around.

Molly paused, terrified as to what she’d find behind the wood. And although he hadn’t killed her in her sleep with the knife, which he could have easily done, that didn’t make him any less of a danger.

With a sharp breath, she quickly twisted the door knob, and wrenched it open. From the door frame, she could see the cool pantry door ajar. Hurriedly she crossed the room, and shoved it open fully. She found him, crouched by a sack of oats and scarfing down the milk bread she made earlier. There was something entirely animalistic about the sight, and accordingly it rose the hair on the back of her neck.

His head snapped to the side as he stared at her, teeth bared as he ripped away another piece. The air between them was electrified, filled with the sound of his feeding. It was several minutes before Molly could find the strength to talk.

“What,” she started softly, “in God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?” Her companion pointedly didn’t respond. Annoyed, Molly rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she mumbled, “let’s get those dressings changed and a proper meal into you.”

She took a step backwards into the kitchen to toss the knife onto the table, before she went back into the pantry. Molly sniffed at his snarl, making it plain she wouldn’t shy away from his animus, not while he was a ward under her roof. It was easy to ignore his attempt at swatting away her hands, as the laceration to his side made his movements sluggish. And further, Molly had become stronger since she’s started to live alone - she had to be. Had to become stronger in this cruel, cold world. No one would care if sad, lonely Molly perished, least of all…

Molly bit hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing the bubbling melancholy back down as she put the stranger’s arm over her shoulder. Together, they limped out of the pantry and back into the kitchen. She helped him to the nearest chair, wincing at his grunt of pain as he sat down. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Molly took a step back, and placed her hands on her hips.

Scowling up at her, he was still gripping the half eaten loaf of bread in his one hand. Molly needed to clear her throat before she began, “Right. Before I make you the breakfast you far from deserve, what is your name?”

“ _Moriarty_ ,” he spat out.

“...Mor...” She blinked, and tried again. “Moriarty…” It was merely a name, but when she said it aloud, it made her skin feel as though it’d been pricked. Her grandmother used to say words have energy and power, and at that moment, she knew how right that was. It burned to say it aloud, not unpleasantly, but simply there was a warmth that burrowed into her chest. That feeling intensified when she noticed his stare, particularly the glint of amusement in his eyes. Quickly, she looked away.

She was ashamed by her warming cheeks, but after taking a second to collect her wits, she continued on as though nothing had happened. “So, Mr Moriarty… Why were you in my home?”

As she turned away to light the range, she heard the snide snort behind her. “I don’t have to explain myself nor my intentions to you, mortal.”

Molly rose a brow, mumbling questioningly to herself, “Mortal?” She had hoped the only injury was to his person, but perhaps his mind had been damaged as well. For now, she would accept his fantasy, but hopefully she could break him from it over time. “I take it,” she started softly, “you aren’t a man.”

“Undoubtedly.” He made a show of crossing one leg over another, gesturing lazily to himself. Molly couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, taking in his shirtless bandaged body. Immediately, she turned back around again and paused before she closed the range’s door. When she faced him again, gratefully, the colour to her cheeks lessened.

“I apologize for my ignorance, but if you aren’t a man, then what are you?”

“Can’t you tell?” Moriarty left her only half a heartbeat, before he continued. “Of course not. I suppose your world has been without my kind for too long.”

As Molly fetched the proper pot and ingredients to make porridge, she listened quietly, allowing his voice to wash over her as she made breakfast. Occasionally, she would give a hum in favour of a reply - quickly coming to the conclusion that her guest rather admired his own voice, and didn’t need a response from her before continuing with his dialogue.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you couldn’t detect the brilliance before you, given the typical intelligence amongst humans. But it is baffling, that you lot haven’t gone extinct yet. What with the wars, and… Diseases…”

Molly felt, rather than saw the look of disgust Moriarty gave at his surroundings. She cast an offended glance over her shoulder, setting the pot on the hotplate. She may not have much in the way of belongings, but she prided herself on the cleanliness of her home.  “And I suppose you can do better?”

He sniffed, disinterested from the contempt dripping from her voice. “Clearly. If I wanted something clean, I simply snap my fingers and voilà!”

Swiftly, Molly was reminded of her theory of Moriarty being a confused aristocrat. She filled a kettle with water and put it on the range as well, and set a teapot to warm. “Well, we can’t all have servants, Mr Moriarty.”

“No, indubitably - but with the assistance of magic, none of that matters, mortal.”

Molly was silent for several minutes, grabbing the jar of willow bark from the cupboard, and the strainer. “I have a name, Mr Moriarty. And I’d quite like it if you used it. As long as you’re under my roof, you may only refer to me as Miss Molly Hooper.”

There was a chuckle behind her, and when she turned around again to set the table, he was directing a smirk at her. “Hasn’t anyone told you how dangerous it is, giving your name to a fae?”

She frowned back at him, “No,” she admitted. “But I don’t see the harm in introducing myself, it’s my name to give. Besides, it isn’t proper, not being acquainted.

Moriarty tilted his head, smirk faltering. “You know… You’re rather strange.”

Her head snapped up, a scowl marring her features. “A strange woman who I might remind you, Mr Moriarty, saved your life.”

Any pretense of laughter fell away from his face, as soon Molly’s scowl was mirrored back. “You hardly saved anything, _Molly_.”

She fought the answering shiver, shoving it aside as the porridge finished cooking. She made up two bowls, sweetening them with sugar before she placed both onto the table. Moriarty eyed his own cautiously, making no move to lift his brass spoon as she finished preparing the tea. She spooned the bark into the teapot, and then poured the boiling water from the kettle in.

While she waited the five minutes for it to steep, she took out her grandmother’s teacup set. Usually, it was only her, but since she had company, she had to clean the other cup. By the time she finished, the tea was ready. Carefully, she held the strainer above his cup, and dipped the teapot with her free hand. After both cups had been poured, finally she joined him.

Setting his cup by his elbow, Molly sat down in her own chair with a heavy sigh. Seeing his food had yet to be eaten, she rose a brow. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Moriarty sniffed, “Indeed I didn’t.” Rolling her eyes heavenwards, Molly was the first to eat. If he didn’t, it was of his own choice - by no means would she stop him, nor would she wait on his beck and call. She was starving from yesterday and this morning’s hard work, and eagerly, she spooned the porridge into her mouth.

Watching her for a moment, Moriarty warily peered down at his own food, before he gingerly scooped some up and rose it to his lips. Molly felt only a tad sympathetic for him, as surely, this wasn’t a meal he was used to.

She hid her smile, as his hunger, at last, hit him and he quickly gobbled down the food. As soon as he polished off the rest of it, she rested her chin on her knuckles as he picked up the teacup. He took a big mouthful, and there was a second of delay, before he spat it out.

Immediately, Molly flinched before she leaned away from the spray.

“What!?” Moriarty hissed, angrily wiping his lips clean with the back of his hand. “Is that vile concoction?!”

Molly lowered her spoon, frowning at the mess he caused and his tone. “Willow bark. I know it isn’t the most palatable beverage, but it will help with the fever and the pain.”

“Then why on earth are you drinking it?!”

“Because,” she said flatly, “since your arrival, I find myself being plagued with a headache.”

Moriarty scoffed. “I don’t need to drink a tea, much less this one. A fae only needs to call upon his magic for any trivial ailments.”

“By all means, go ahead.” She gestured crossly to the wet floor. “And after you heal yourself, perhaps you could tidy this mess?”

It took a second, but then Moriarty appeared to realize something.“You don’t believe me, do you? Mortal?” He glared at Molly’s humourless smile.

“Not particularly, no.”

Moriarty’s own angry smile stretched across his face, mocking as he hissed, “Well, consider yourself honoured. Behold!” With a flourish, Moriarty plucked his half empty cup from the table, and purposely dropped it. As soon as it came into contact with the ground, the delicate fine china shattered into a million pieces.

Molly gasped, chair scraping against the floorboards as she stood suddenly. “That was my grandmother’s!” Fingers gripping the end of the table, she furiously called out, “Why would you do that?!”

Her anger only increased by the pleased smile he was giving her, like he sharing a secret. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fixed soon enough. Watch.” He snapped his fingers and waited. A tense second passed by, where neither breathed and… Nothing. The teacup was still broken. Dumbfounded, Moriarty frowned and snapped his fingers again - and still nothing happened.

“I… I don’t understand.” Imploringly, he stared at his fingers.

Molly shook her head, blinking back the bitter tears that threatened to fall. “Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. She sucked in a deep breath, and went around the table, kneeling to pick up the pieces. It was hard to not be upset, but she knew it was better to let that frustration go. He wasn’t in the right mind to distinguish reality from fantasy. “It’s my fault,” she muttered, “I shouldn’t have gloated you.”

“I…”

She gathered the sharp pieces into her hand, and stepped over the puddle and carried them to the bin. After they were disposed of, she grabbed a rag and knelt back down and wiped the mess away. She could feel him staring at her, but she didn’t let that bother her too much.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, not sure whether she meant that towards her companion or to herself. “Mistakes happen.”

Floor cleaned, she climbed to her feet with a grunt, and tossed the rag into the laundry wash tub in the corner. When she turned back to her guest, he was staring off into the distance, hand placed on his bandaged side. “C’mon,” Molly eventually said with a sigh, “let’s get you dressed. We don’t want you catching a cold as well.”

* * *

 

The basin and more water had to be fetched, but as soon as it was heated, Molly set it before a startled Moriarty. As well as a mild bar of soap, a towel, and a sponge were set on the table. “Relax,” she mumbled when he stiffened, “I won’t violate your person.”

“On the contrary,” Moriarty started, unexpected words making her lift her head as she sat down. There was a peculiar glint to his eyes, a shrewd knowledge that made her heartbeat quicken. “I’d encourage you to act otherwise.”

“You’d…” Molly’s brows drew together in a confused frown. “Mr Moriarty, what are you trying to say?”

“ _Molly_ ,” he purred, and gently placed his hand on her’s. “You know quite well what I mean.” There was a moment in delay, in which Molly knew not how to comment nor react. In that time, Moriarty’s thumb rubbed soothing circles onto the back of her hand. His eyes were peering into her’s so deeply, that she couldn’t help but admire the colour. The irides were a dark brown, something so familiar that it shocked her how much the sight resonated with her soul.

It took her longer than she would have preferred, to realize why that was. That those eyes reminded her of rich soil, and what had been the last time she’d seen such pigment… Her eyelashes fluttered, the association unfurling a purposely forgotten scene before her. A cloudy autumn afternoon that somehow, despite all of these years, twisted her gut with grief.

The memory had happened a little over two decades prior, but even while being imbued with youth, she could recall it with such clarity.

How cold the chilled wind had been, how it cut so cleanly through the thick layer of her woollen jacket, and distracted her with the dance of fallen leaves as she listened absently to the priest recite his prayer. She knew it was important, that it was to be the final one, but her thoughts kept wandering away.

Perhaps she thought the distraction would aid her, that it would shelter poor Margaret Hooper from the reality that her father had died, and like the rest of her family, he’d left her alone. But not even all of the leaves in the world could make her forget her change in status, at least for long, not with the closed casket that had yet to be lowered, nor the sickly sweet scent of upturned dirt and the bouquet she clutched tightly in between her numb hands.

The prayer rang clearly in her ears, “ _May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace_...”

Something touched her cheek, smearing the path of a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen, and ventured down to her lips. The unexpected taste of salt snapped her from her trance. And with a jolt, she realized how much closer he was, and that it had been his thumb touching her. His presumptuous caress and the enthralled stare at her improper exhibit of weakness scorched her hotter than any fire could.

Sharply Molly pulled her hand away, leaning back in her chair. The muddy scent of the funeral’s incense still burned her nostrils as she struggled to calm her racing heart.

Moriarty sat across from her, hand still hanging in the air. He wore an expression of confusion, which seemed ill suited for his features. Molly compelled herself to look away, and to busy her trembling hands with picking up the bar of soap. Eyes fixed to the steam rising from the basin, she gingerly dipped it into the warmed water. “Mr Moriarty,” she mumbled, straining for a sense of composure, “I’m unsure what first brought you to my home, or your intention since you’ve awakened, but regardless…” When she turned back to face him, her countenance was that of a harsh determination. “While I’m your protector-” She glared at the slight opening of his mouth, swiftly cutting him off, “And I have been doing precisely that. Protecting you from sickness, and whatever it was that wished you bodily harm, I expect _nothing_ but the respect of a man who is indebted.”

He dropped his hand to his lap, the sultry appearance he once displayed overtaken with that of insult. “Indebted?” He sputtered, faintness belying the sharp edge underneath. “To _you?”_  The idea seemed laughable to him.

Molly simply lifted her chin in pride, making it clear that his comments were bouncing off of her. That his words had no effect, that they held no power. In a consciously compassionate tone she inquired, “Isn’t that what you call it, when you’re saved from death?”

“Death and I are old friends, Miss Hooper. The tiny scratch you tended to was simply that, a scratch.” He sneered at her then, confidence at odds with the pallor of his visage. He may still be convinced of his fantasy, but to her, she merely saw an injured man who’d worked himself into a unrealistic stupor of imaginary grandeur.

She moved forward, dragging the bar of soap lightly along Moriarty’s skin. Although it had been heated by the water, the slimy trail it left behind made her guest break out into goosebumps. She couldn’t help but be fascinated by the reaction, murmuring under her breath, “That may be so. But it seems that _tiny scratch_ has left you powerless.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Hasn’t it?”

The threat of smirking was real when she watched his fade away. And while he gave her an aloof appraisal, Molly noted the heat to his gaze. Which didn’t shock her, not the anger, for she took Mr Moriarty as a proud man. No, what confused her was the flicker of satisfaction. That somehow, her jab had pleased him in some way.

“For now,” he eventually admitted, as although it was the truth that was hurting him and not the very real wound to his side. “But you shouldn’t get too comfortable with the idea.”

Molly sniffed, switching to the sponge. “You have my word, Mr Moriarty, that I am far from it.” The rest of his bathing was done in relative silence, with little but the crackling fire to fill in the gaps. After the grime was gone from his body, and dried off with a towel, Molly unwound the long strips of gauze.

Immediately, she clucked her tongue at the wound. There was a bit of drainage soaking the dressing, but she’d seen far worse. With a shake of her head, Molly climbed to her feet, “Don’t move a muscle,” she commanded firmly. Her patient glaring after her, she left the kitchen to fetch the roll of gauze and scissors from the parlour room before she returned.

Plopping down on her chair with an automatic sigh, she began the task of redressing. For the most part, Molly could ignore the nearness of their persons, and the warm skin her hands brushed against with each layer she wrapped around his torso. But what was troublesome, was his breath brushing her cheeks when she leaned forward, and the weight of his focus.

“ _What?_ ” She hissed, annoyance making her hasten to tie the knot. Once secure, she sat back again, resolute to pretend her ears weren’t burning.

He simply a rose a brow, lips tugging into a knowing grin. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I couldn’t help notice something worrisome.”

“Worrisome?” She mumbled back, brows furrowing.

“Yes, this…” Moriarty made a wide gesture to their surroundings, struggling for the word, “ _Charming_ home of yours. Do you live in it alone?”

She wanted to appear unaffected by his inquiry, unafraid, but the instinctive tensing of her muscles betrayed her. Reluctantly, she conceded, “I do.”

Mr Moriarty tilted his head, a genuine look of astonishment crossing his face. “And you’re not nervous of other humans who might take advantage of your situation?”

Molly fought the need to roll her eyes heavenwards, she’d heard similar apprehensive questionings from the few friends she left in London. “Of course I am, I would be a fool otherwise.”

“And yet…?”

“And yet I live alone.” Irritation getting the better of her, crossly Molly climbed to her feet, dusting off the front of her nightclothes. This time, she did roll her eyes when Moriarty finally took notice of her attire. “Is there anymore worries you have, Mr Moriarty? Or will that be it?”

Moriarty grinned at her suddenly, teeth bared. “There’s no need to be upset, my dear. I was simply assessing the legitimacy of my... Protector...”

The title left a sour taste on Molly’s tongue, but she still swallowed it down. “Well, I hope you’re rest assured, Mr Moriarty. As while being in the weakened state as you are-” His eyes narrowed. “I am more than capable of preserving your health. The fate that befalls you when you leave my cottage, however, will be your own doing alone. Now, I have some clothing that you can wear for the time being.”

That last statement seemed to send Moriarty into a coughing fit, one he emerged from with a strangled query, “What has happened to my mine?!”

Molly, who had been crossing the room, paused by the door frame. She cast a glance over her shoulder, taking no effort to hide her smile. “Why, it had to be destroyed to mend your wounds, sir.”

The choking sound that followed her, was a small reward that day, for her dealings with Mr Moriarty. She could only hope that the future would supply better exchanges, and quickly, her patient would be healed enough to be sent on his way.


	3. Chapter 3

In the early morning she dressed for her journey into town, toes cold from walking on the cool floorboards by the time she slipped into her boots. She was careful to not awake her sleeping companion, whom she noticed when she peered around the corner, was still snoring on her couch - stretched form, half covered with a crumpled blanket, and to her vexation, without a care in the world.

Molly’s lips pursed. At least one of them could be blessed with ignorance. While he lounged in her home, kept from elemental harm, she would be gathering more supplies for the upcoming winter. Hopefully he’d stay like that until she got back, that would leave her enough time to slip out of her male counterpart's attire. With one last glance at her sleeping guest, she put her woollen cap on and overcoat, and ventured outside.

The sunlight had barely settled on the landscape, bathing the path and the walls of forest in pale gold. She allowed herself a bit of peace then, as she trekked along the twisting trail and stepped over its protruding roots and rocks. Even while wary of falling, she was thankful for the quiet the sunrise provided her. Occasionally sniffing into the chilled, crisp dawn air, she thought of the day prior - how things have changed so quickly. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell whether it was for the better or worse.

Whether _he_ would be something good in the end. It’d been a while since she talked to someone other than her cat. And while she loved Tobias to bits and pieces, he couldn’t hold a real conversation, at least not the kind she wanted… Needed to have.

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, mind betraying her with the memory of the feeling of his skin under her fingertips. The heat to it, and the intensity of his gaze. It was so different from what she was used to, relying on her own touch to feed her desire for physical contact. The only other times she’s had that, as of recently, were with her patients in town. Even then, she couldn’t enjoy the pleasure that is social interactions.

Maybe this is what she needed, a stranger to throw her off balance, and uproot her from the safety of isolation. She winced, heavy sigh caught in her throat when her thoughts directed themselves to London. The people she left behind, and the words she was afraid to say.

“ _Christ!_ ” She exhaled, raising a hand to scrub the side of her face. If only they could see her now, hiding not only for everyone, but herself as well.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile_

 

As soon as the front door closed, Moriarty groaned, turning his head to press it into the cushions. Thankfully, it was quiet once more, a lucky thing to whoever had disturbed his sleep, as he was contemplating, and quite seriously I might add, stealing their soul to light his main estate’s lanterns.

He was just about to fall back asleep, the sunlight that was filtering through brushing against his cheeks with such a sweet caress, when a trill disturbed the atmosphere. His brows furrowed in irritation, and unable to help himself, Moriarty reluctantly opened his eyes. There was a second, louder trill this time. A most definite, cross, _excuse me_. Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to sit up, wincing at the pain digging into his side.

Seated at the side of the sofa was that feline he’d seen lurking in the background, tail lazily swishing as they made eye contact. “ _What?_ ” He hissed, flashing his teeth. Given the general authority and power he held, Moriarty was used to people fleeing from him in _absolute fear_. The passive blinking of amber eyes he received, however, quickly changed matters. At once he pouted, still sulking when the feline gave one last trill before they padded over. And with a little noise, there was a second delay before the creature landed gracefully at the end of the sofa, stepping on his feet. Swiftly, he tried to kick them off, but ever so uncaring of his plight, the nasty little thing weaved around the attempt and stood on his pelvis.

Moriarty attempted his best murderous look, voice low as he promised, “I’ll destroy you.” They leaned in slightly, giving him a few sniffs. Pleased with whatever it was that they found, they then proceeded to do their most insulting act yet, the feline laid down.

Dumbfounded, he froze. Minutes passed by as he sat there, the warmth of the feline seeping into him. Gingerly he lifted his hand, fingers slipping through a patch of fur on their back. As soon as he made contact, his companion surprised him further yet. It made this deep rumbling, something so satisfied, that he felt his body relax in response. He hated it.

“You,” he begun awkwardly, needing a second to clear his throat before he attempted it again. “Are you trying to persuade me into forming an alliance?” He gave them a few more pets, an unwanted smile worming its way onto his face. “Hmm, a very intelligent move. Understanding the strength before you.”

He rose a brow, considering the name he’d heard the woman refer to his newfound ally as. “If I’m not mistaken - and I’m never, you’re Tobias.”

Tobias’ eyes narrowed into pleased slits, stretching his legs out so his paws pressed lightly into Moriarty’s stomach. He hated to admit it, but Moriarty was _spellbound_. The only logical reason to why that was - was that the woman that healed him(and he hated the concept) was a witch.

He had his fair share of dealings with humans playing around with ancient power that they didn’t understand, never would, but he’d never had one try to help him. It was always the other way around, summoning him, and trying to strike up a deal.

But he’d also never been in this situation before, far from his kingdom and cut off from his supernatural powers. To fae, magic was ingrained into their very beings - without it, it was like attempting to breathe without having lungs. And here he was, stranded and lungless, with a witch’s familiar laying on his lap.

Her words echoed in his head then, reminding him, _“I hope you’re rest assured, Mr Moriarty. As while being in the weakened state as you are, I am more than capable of preserving your health...”_

Perhaps… This familiar was enlisted in ‘protecting’ him. Moriarty’s expression fell into a frown.

“Humans are so droll,” he murmured, “with their sense of generosity.”

* * *

 

When Molly arrived into the market town, her face was flushed, and she’d worked up a sweat under her thick clothes from the exercise of her journey.

Pace slowing down, she eased into a stroll. Keeping close to the beginning of a fence made of stones when the road was shared with a speeding by carriage.

She returned a nod to the coachman when she was passed. She may seldom trouble herself to be amongst the locals, but still, she was welcomed as though she walked these streets daily.

The road led her by the heart of the town, the small Catholic church. And although Molly didn’t practice, she couldn’t deny the comfort she always found when she saw the medieval styled building. It set her at ease for the rest of her trek, until at last, she entered the recently opened general store.

The rush of cold that entered the store when the door opened, announced her arrival. And at once, the man behind the counter greeted her with a cordial, “Good morning, Dr Hooper.”

“Good morning, Mr Webb.” Mark grumbled back, taking his chilled hands from his pockets and rubbing them together to restore some of the sensation.

“I trust it, your sister is faring well?”

Mark gave a noncommittal hum, choosing to slowly walk around the store and inspect the stock being offered before he responded. “As well as she can be, sir, with this cold weather.”

To most, this action might have been thought of as rude. But this was not the case, for Mr Webb knew of Dr Hooper’s character, and particularly the poor fellow’s habit of keeping to himself. And truthfully, Mr Webb saw a lot of himself in the timid physician. Which is why, after the young man had gathered his groceries and set them up on the counter to be paid for, that Mr Webb decided to offer an act of kindness.

He gave the other man a small discount, and a bit of advice. He shook his head when Dr Hooper protested, pushing back the coins away from his hand. “You’ve done a lot of good for this town. I’m simply paying that same good will forward.”

“But…” Mark sputtered, flabbergasted as he reluctantly returned his coin to his purse. “I haven’t done anything particularly charitable.”

“You may believe that…” Mr Webb gave a him a meaningful look over, “But we all know otherwise. I heard of how you treated Mrs Hart’s burns without taking payment.” Mr Webb firmly nodded, “You’re a good man. We need more like you in the world.”

Mark looked away from the clerk, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “I merely imagine myself in my patient’s situation, sir. And act accordingly. Nothing more.”

“All the same, you have our respect. And we hope that after Dr Hodge retires, you’ll take his place, and you and your sister will move into town.” Mr Webb’s words fell short. And after a brief consideration, he added on, “And settle down.”

Mark’s gaze snapped back to him, forcing down a wave of melancholy. He knew then that the general store’s owner had other intentions, then just offering a discount after a good deed was committed - for he had seen similar purpose from the wives of the town.

The man before him was widowed, with only a daughter to surpass him. Mark had only met Miss Alice Webb a few times for medical visits, but already, he had formed a strong impression of the young lady.

Despite designed to being rather pale and fragile, Miss Alice possessed a sweet temperament. And whenever Mark came for a checkup, she immediately brightened, and would often hold great lengthy conversations with him.

It was clear that Mr Webb wouldn’t live forever, a fact that he was more than aware of. And although he was healthy, the clerk wanted to be prepared as much as he could for the future. He needed someone to care for his dear daughter - Alice wasn’t the prettiest unmarried girl in the town, but she was a gentle soul. And Dr Hooper had already proved himself to be of the same regard, and not to mention the promise of his career.

Molly barely held back a wince. She had an injured man in her home that thought he was a fae, she truly didn’t need another attempt of match making added onto her list of worries. Molly coughed into her sleeve, needing a moment to collect herself before she could slip back into her role.

“Perhaps,” Mark grunted, “in due time I will. Thank you, Mr Webb, for your generosity. But I must be off.”

“Yes,” the other man unwillingly replied. “I shouldn’t keep you much longer, not with the storm.”

Mark, who had been hastily scooping up his groceries, rose his head in confusion. “Storm?”

“There’s a strong northerly wind blowing in. I reckon we’re going to be getting a heavy snowfall tonight. You better make sure when you return home, that you have enough wood to burn.”

“...I’ll be sure to do that.” After exchanging goodbyes, Mark exited the store with his purchases, and grimaced as soon as the door closed behind him. “Lovely,” Molly mumbled under her breath. "Something else to worry about.”

* * *

 

They had come to an agreement. On whispered tones, while lounging on the sofa, they spoke of the fate of their alliance. Or to be more accurate, Moriarty did all of the talking. Which didn’t bother him, for he knew with every lazy blink of Tobias’ eyes, that the feline was agreeing with his every word. Another testament to the excellent judgement his ally had. 

Jim would occasionally pause, reverent of the small warm body laying on top of him. Giving his protector another scratch under his chin, Jim leaned back, eyes to the ceiling as he painted the image in his mind aloud. That after the small amount of time had passed for him to be fully healed, he’d feel his magic’s powerful energy under his skin once more. Together with his companion, he’d return to his kingdom and be rid of the traitors who attempted to do him harm.

Once the blood of his enemies had watered the dirt under his shoes, he’d take his seat on the throne. “Yes,” Jim mumbled into the quiet, “we’ll be held in wonder...”

As though in response, Tobias’ purrs intensified.

Jim glanced down, grin widening as he cooed, “Of course you’ll get your own, my dear. The court will marvel the beauty of your coat, and come to shake in fear when in your presence.” So preoccupied he was with the vision, that Moriarty was ignorant to the sound of the front door opening. It was the sudden twitching of the feline’s ears that gave him the second notice, before his companion jumped off of his stomach and raced out of the room.  

He choked out an " _Oof,"_  the air knocked from him. With a wince, he gingerly lifted a hand to rub at the sore spot, glaring from his seat as he listened to the greetings coming from the hallway.  The witch was cooing softly, speaking to her familiar in such a way that was strange for Jim to hear - at least, when coming from her.

Tobias was trilling loudly, the sound immediately souring Moriarty’s mood. “Turncoat,” Jim mumbled, spitting the word out. He crossed his arms over his chest, sneering as he thought of the companionship he had moments before.

There was a sigh from the hallway, as though the witch could tell he was irritated. Heavy boots fell to the ground, and there was clothing rustling, before they finally entered the parlour.

Both of Jim’s eyebrows shot up, and startled, he pulled himself up as the other stood in the door frame, glaring at him. _This_ … Jim glanced down at Tobias, who stepped lightly into the room as well, tail raised high and curled as they meowed for attention. _Who were they?_

The moustached man before him was attractive, in a demure way. An overcoat was bent over one of his arms, and his big brown eyes were currently attempting to stare Moriarty down. Slowly, a grin stretched across Jim’s face. Truly, nothing is as provocative as good old fashioned contempt.

“Hello,” he purred, gaze raking up the petite gentleman’s figure. They had similar features to his witch, so he concluded they were related in some kind of manner.

 _Perhaps cousins?_  He immediately dismissed the idea, happily deciding that before him was the other half of a set of siblings.  _Twins._ “My,” Jim breathlessly laughed, “it’s my lucky day!” His companion didn’t share his enthusiasm, and with an annoyed huff, they ripped their moustache off. Jim blinked.  _Ah..._


	4. Chapter 4

Moriarty leaned back, not bothering to hide his grin. "My," he breathed, delighted gaze licking up the other's form. "This has certainly been an unexpected turn of events."

Expression pointedly unimpressed, Molly wordlessly crossed the room to toss her overcoat onto one of the sofa's arms. When she took a step back, she met his eyes with a scowl. "By all means," she snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm, "tell me your opinion." Her eyes narrowed when he scoffed, hands landing on her hips as she silently dared him to speak. 

Unfortunately, it was true to her guest's character that he chose ignorance in the face of danger. Or... Perhaps he didn't consider her enough of a threat to become wary? Molly's lips pursed, her fingernails biting into the fabric of her trousers at the thought. For all of her cold aloofness, Molly was  _terrified_. She only hoped as she frowned, that Moriarty from the short distance between them, couldn't see the trembling of her hands. That the flimsy mask she wore was crumbling away, and beneath it, he'd witness her terror at being discovered. 

Whether he could or not, Jim mercifully didn't comment. Instead, with a pained grunt, he climbed up from his seat to stand before her. He made a show of standing up straight, an act she knew couldn't have been easy - not when she noted the seconds flicker of pain on his brow. And yet, for the slight hunch to his posture, and the tentative hand on his injured side, both parties were aware of their differences in height. 

In the deepest part of her heart, Molly knew she was luckier than most. She had a freedom, sad as it might be, that most women of her time would love to possess. Under admittedly tiring circumstance, her education extended far greater than a London lady - and even further that, if she were born into a noble home. But for all of the gifts she'd been lucky to receive, at that precise moment, Molly wished she was an inch or two taller.

The heels of her boots couldn't compare to her guest, whom she couldn't help but observe with a tinge of envy, had been born into a different status than her own. And yes, for all she knew, he came from a long line of well bred gentlemen of towering stature. But that didn't diminish the knowledge of the meals he'd been served throughout his life. That, instead of kneading his own dough and worrying about the contents of his pantry, dishes simply appeared within the hands of a faceless and nameless servant whenever he was peckish. 

It made the craning of her neck, and the half step Molly instinctively took back, all the more frustrating. The majority of that anger, was directed at herself. That still within her own home, the blood of a commoner made her scramble away from Moriarty, and cower at the mysticism of his aristocracy.  

After another one-sided bout of satisfying silence, finally, Moriarty spoke. "Miss Hooper, I said this change was unexpected. Never that it wasn't enjoyable."

" _Enjoyable?"_   Molly spat, sudden vexation loosening her tongue. "How could anyone think such a thing?"

"Oh." Jim's grin stretched. "I could state several reasons if you'll permit it."

"Undoubtedly I will not." His expression fell into a sour frown. "Why would I ask for something of such little value? It makes no difference to me, of your thoughts on my situation, whether you voiced it or not. You'd only be wasting both of our time, Mr Moriarty." In an act far braver than how she truly felt, Molly turned away, leaving her back open as she removed the remaining articles of her disguise. With a sharp intake from the spirit gum being pulled off, she removed the wig, and carried it with her moustache to the dresser in the corner. After they were carefully set down, she lingered there for a moment. 

She knew from the heated gaze she felt across the room, that he was angry, and the thought of that - of dealing with conflict, made her timid. And internally she knew, it was her own fault, that it was her own sharp words that were partially to be blamed. However, when she turned back around, she couldn't muster enough empathy to care. Because, to be frank, he(without thought to her own misgivings) had torn away the veil of security she'd meticulously woven. And without that comfortable facade, Molly was at a loss, but what made all of this worse by a tenfold, was that he didn't understand the depths in which he affected her.

Pretending as though she wasn't a coward, Molly mentioned the storm as a way of an excuse, before she fled. Boots thumping loudly on the floorboards, she told herself as the front door shut firmly behind her, that her pace was solely because she wanted to be ready for a blizzard - NOT because her delirious guest made her emotions declare war on one another. No, never that.

Determined to ignore that it felt very much like she was walking around with her tail in between her legs, she went around the house to the woods. 

 

When the door came to a close, Jim, with a great huff of annoyance, limped back to the sofa and plopped himself down. As soon as his rear touched the cushions, he shook his head in disbelief. The response he had received, made absolutely no sense.

In his realm, he was heralded for his brilliance. Murder was common place in the Court, especially if it meant winning such a powerful being's favour, if only for a moment. His choice of suitors was virtually unlimited, so the mortal should have crumpled to her feet, and wept with joy for being considered by him!

Indeed, even in his less remarkable younger days, when he had only a handful of titles, he still offered advice to mortal kings and queens - but only if he so chose to. And they had gladly accepted these conditions, because with their pitiful kingdoms and sad excuses for armies, they understood how vastly stronger he was. 

Of course, in the beginning, some did attempt to frighten him with their quaint methods of torture they used on the poor. He'd been sickened by it, but not because of the mindless pain they caused, but because of how unimaginative they were. And so, feeling particularly charitable, he was generous enough to show them the error of their ways. With the witch, he was only doing the same thing, extending his kindness after their hospitality. But instead of following the dead nobility's footsteps, and throwing herself at him, she...

Moriarty scowled, snarling as he saw her before him once more. Proud and defiant, staring up at him with such burning eyes.  _"Why would I ask for something of such little value?"_ Never before in all of the centuries he'd been alive, had he found himself being so... so... _Insulted!_ It was almost impressive.

With their conversation still ringing in his ears, and a ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, Jim forced himself to climb to his feet. Grumbling, he lumbered over to a set of windows, and pushed back the thick curtains to look outside. Squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight, he could just make out the image of the witch dragging a portion of tree across the length of the yard.

Making himself comfortable by leaning against the window sill, the attention starved meows by his feet went unnoticed, as he watched her take an axe from the shed, and set to work chopping wood.

The meaning of time became forgotten as the hours turned into seemingly minutes, and all the while, Moriarty was oddly rooted in place. He could tell she was still displeased about earlier, by the swing she brought down to split logs into two. And perchance to most, the thought of an armed witch was troubling, but to Moriarty, he only felt a sincere stirring of his character. It shocked even him, the intensity of his attraction. Of course, he was no stranger to the play of lust. He had performed before many eager crowds, whether on a stage, or behind closed doors. But what he wasn't used to, in fact, had nearly forgotten, was the taste of unrequited interest. 

Moriarty shuddered. It is easy to grow bored when you are an immortal, and right before him, in the form of a small human was an escape from it. Yes, it would only be a fleeting bliss, mankind are indeed a fragile species. However... Moriarty grinned. He could already tell it would be worth it...

 

It was only when she was illuminated with the rich colours of the evening, and the pile was an agreeable size, that Molly stopped. 

Groaning, she straightened with a hand to the small of her back. Her muscles were heavy and aching, and she was drenched in sweat, but she'd completed the work she set out to do. Lifting her eyes from the chopping block, she rose them to her home. Squinting against the sting of perspiration, and the strands of hair that had escaped her braids, she let out a big sigh.

From one of the windows, she could see a vague silhouette peering at her. She gave a tired bark of laughter, when realizing they had been caught spying, the curtain was quickly dropped. Molly rolled her eyes, somehow smiling despite everything.

Anger tempered by her exhaustive chore, she dropped her hand, and slowly put her tool away, and moved the freshly cut logs to the firewood shed. A few pieces she carried in with her, to add to the stack by the parlour's hearth. When she entered her home, she paused by the entrance, pretending that she didn't hear a flurry of movement from the room on the right as she set her armful down, and slipped out of her boots. 

Picking it up again, she felt assured that she had given enough time for Mr Moriarty to return to a more natural state, before she entered.

 

* * *

 

When she stepped into the parlour room, she dropped everything at her feet. So was her surprise at the visage of her guest. The flush to his skin, made it seem as though it had been  _he_  who had toiled away.

She hurriedly went to his side, worried that the fever had returned. Without thought, she reached to place a hand to his forehead, but halted when he flinched away from the contact. Brows furrowed in confusion, she peered down at him, at a loss when she noticed he refused to meet her gaze.

"Mr Moriarty?" She inquired softly, not wanting to upset him any further. "Are you feeling unwell?" For a second, neither said anything. Until her guest, perhaps unable to bear the weight of her attention any further, muttered a reply. 

"I'm quite fine. You already have intimate knowledge of the..." He sniffed haughtily, "wound to my person."

"Then, why are you..." She broke off, bafflement only mounting when Moriarty nervously shifted. It was at that point, when in the midst of her studying, that she naturally lowered her scrutiny from his face and down from his torso, to... The source of Mr Moriarty's... hardship...

Strangled noise wrenching itself from Molly's lips, she jumped a foot backwards, nearly falling to the ground when she stumbled over Tobias. Ignoring the pained yowl from her feline companion, she managed to correct her stance. Even when the fear of tumbling had dissipated, still the beat of her heart was loud and fast.

While it was true that because of her studies and occupation, Molly had a far greater understanding of the male form than an unmarried woman ought to know - still, the cause for such a 'state', was at a loss on her.

Of course, she knew _why_   his trousers were tented, but she couldn't fathom _how_ he'd find arousal in here of all places. Blinking harshly as a thought crept into her mind, immediately she tried to get rid of the notion that she'd been the cause.

That somehow, Mr Moriarty took enjoyment of her angry, but casual display of strength outside. With a wince, she glanced down to her dishevelled appearance. Lips pursed with a foreboding sense of dread, she peered upwards at his expression.

Embarrassment had seemingly been forgone for a look of cocky confidence, but underneath it all, Molly couldn't help but see the heat to his eyes. She quickly glanced away, "Y-yes," she eventually said, silently praying that he didn't notice how difficult it had been. "Your wound, I still haven't tended to it today. I'll just grab the supplies, and get dinner on." With an awkward nod of her head, Molly  _fled_. 

* * *

  _Later_

 

Not the finest, but certainly the easiest way to describe the remainder of that night, was that it had been gruesome. Indeed, that evening was remarkable in its terror, that Molly was sure even in the distant future, when she was an old woman on her deathbed, surrounded by sympathetic bystanders, and the myriad of stuffed animals she'd collected over the years - still, the memory of it would haunt her. And rightfully so, as present Molly found herself questioning whether it was possible to die from discomfort.

The muscles in her cheeks had long since began to hurt, but that was the farthest from her focus. But what was, was the goal to finish dinner without any further incident happening. At a first glance, that might not seem to be an arduous challenge, but ever since that unspeakable episode, Molly was in a strange state.

Her hands, which never before troubled her. Never trembled, even when doing the most delicate of work, were now slick with sweat. It made spooning that night's soup into her tense mouth, harder by a tenfold; and her heart! Her blasted heart was racing faster than a horse at the Derby. But worst yet, above all of her pesky ailments, was the calm air that came from the man across from her. 

How unaffected he was, daintily eating his soup, and nibbling at his slice of bread. Molly hated him for it. It was not fair, it should be _he,_  who was embarrassed, not her!  What had she done to deserve it? It certainly had not been her person that became arous-

Molly squinted, smile tightening. Her jaw was positively  _aching_ , but she ignored it. Pushed that pain aside, along every one of the annoying thoughts that came creeping into her mind. The feeling of her fingers on his skin, gliding across the warm expansion, the bumps and dips from the curious scars on his body. Neither one of them had spoken when she touched those, both pretending that she hadn't lingered after the bandages had been redressed. 

It was funny how often they did that, not talking despite how much was left unsaid between them. The sharp sound of a spoon being placed on the table stole her away from herself, the surprise of which, finally made her smile fall. 

Moriarty was regarding her silently. As far as she could tell, there wasn't anything malicious behind it. Only this look of interest, and puzzling concern. It made Molly's stomach turn, like snakes that had gotten themselves twisted into knots, and were sour about it.

Not sure how to respond, Molly attempted another weak smile. But from the frown Moriarty gave her, she knew that was the wrong response. Mouth dry, she let it falter. 

He cleared his throat, resting his weight on his bent elbows, and linking his fingers. "I suppose you have questions."

Out of the many possible things for Moriarty to say, that statement had completely caught Molly off guard. Blinking blandly, she called out, "Excuse me?" 

His prior worry overtaken, her guest rose his eyes heavenwards, as though he was pleading to a god that presided over tables and the etiquette that needed to be held at them. After a second of this wordless exchange, Moriarty dropped his gaze back to her once more.

"Questions, Miss Molly. Do you have them?"

Her eyes widened. He had used her name, not Hooper, nor the memorable 'mortal' - but  _Molly_. She bowed her head, staring at her cooling food as her cheeks burned. It was odd, she was uncertain whether she disliked the usage or not. In all fairness, she had told him to refer to her as Miss Molly Hooper, however, she hadn't anticipated how it would sound coming from him. How oddly intimate it seemed to be. As though they had known each other for longer, that they were more familiar.

"Questions?" She mumbled.

"Yes," he assented, "questions."

Molly slowly peered upwards, gradual enough to assess whether he was still watching her. He was. She shifted in her chair, tucking her legs underneath. "H-how... How many secrets are you willing to share?"

"As many that are necessary." He sighed when she frowned, parting his fingers to lazily gesture with a hand. "Enough that you will be comfortable in my presence, at least in the sense that you won't hack me to death in the imminent future."

"You think I'm going to do that?" She asked tensely.  

"Perhaps, not at this moment. The wind outside is far too piercing and cold. But tomorrow, when the weather has mollified, the trek to the shed might do you some good."

Molly's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm dangerous simply because I know how to wield an axe? Or because I'm a woman?"

Her companion rose a brow, "Is that a genuine inquiry?" She nodded. Moriarty sighed, setting his chin on the knuckles of his curled hand. "I can just see it now, the vision of the oh so proud and disobedient, Miss Molly Hooper. You would storm in, dishevelled and brilliant with your murderous rage. You would be magnificent, even until you brought the blade down on my person." He broke off, becoming distant as a grin crawled onto his face, "that would be a welcomed end to my existence. How amusing..."

" _Amusing?"_   Molly choked out. "It is anything but!" 

It seemed her outburst, finally snapped Moriarty from his strange delighted trance. He shot her a frown, annoyance plain, "Is it not? The mouse felling the raven, and not the other way around is not entertaining to you?"

"I have no business 'felling' anything! Especially any manner of ravens."

Moriarty leaned forward, expression making a turn for the worst. He was absolutely sly, when he cooed, "Are you quite sure? I suspect you would look most enchanting while aflush with homicidal intent..."

"I am confident," she replied flatly. "And you still have yet to answer me."

With an exasperated huff, all pretense of laughter fell away, and Moriarty admitted, "If you are wondering whether I am in terror, then no. While the idea of dying by your hand is charming, it is not likely, not while I am still immortal."

Molly squinted, irritation wavering as she pressed her lips into a pout. Ah, yes. Sometimes her companion conducted himself in such normalcy, that she had forgotten he imagined himself a supernatural creature. Chest squeezing with compassion, Molly nodded gently, hopefully not to the extent that he perceived it as pity. 

There it was, that peculiar silence again. However this time, Molly didn't mind it as much. It felt not quite pleasant, but it was on its way to it. That is, until Molly took a chance, and asked something that has been bothering her. 

"Do..." She paused, wetting her dry lips as she contemplated whether it was worth it. After a moment, she concluded, yes. Yes, it was. "Do you remember how you became injured?"

Moriarty's brows furrowed, "Yes, I recall it being a friendly case of stabbing." He grinned suddenly, horrifying Molly with the realization that he was teasing her, when he corrected, "I think you meant, do I know  _why_."

"Perhaps!" She snapped, colouring considerably, "perhaps, not." Her scowl worsened when Moriarty's smile grew. It was sweet, unlike his usual sneer. In equal measures, it terrified and excited her.

"Either way, the answer to that would be yes as well."

When her companion made no move to clarify, Molly's expression softened. "Is... Do you find it difficult to talk about?" She set the spoon she had been unknowingly clutching to the side, trying to show that he had her full attention. "If it is," she glanced away to the window in the corner. The curtains were drawn tight, but still, she could hear the howl of wind outside. It was a reminder of how separated they were from the town, and all life elsewhere. As far as they knew it, they were all alone in the world. "It isn't imperative to talk about."

She turned back to him, struck with the notion of what if their roles were reversed. What if it was she, hurt and by her lonesome. Would anyone care? Her throat tightened. Did he? Even if it was a small little piece in the bottom of his heart, would it give Mr Moriarty pause if she died?

At the time of their first meeting, Molly would have said no, but now... 

She pushed her chair back, mumbling, "It has been a long day, we should get ready for bed." She gathered her dishes and carried them over to the counter by the basin to be washed later. When she journeyed over to Moriarty's end of the table, she picked up his, and was about to venture back, when a hand snatched her wrist. 

Perplexed, her eyes were wide as she glanced down. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to, not with the gentle and loose hold on her arm. He gave it a small squeeze, and then let go, acting as though nothing had happened. 

Limbs feeling rather stiff, Molly wordlessly carried her bundle over to the others. As she pretended to busy herself with them, she listened to her companion get up from his chair, and lumber off to the parlour room.

The muted sound of the door closing, Molly slumped forward, bringing her arm to her chest. Faintly, she could feel it, the warmth of his skin. With a whispered curse, she brought a hand to her face, covering her closed eyes. 

 


End file.
